Mourning
by belletylers
Summary: The ceremony is a small one. Set after Rumple's "death", and after the curse has wiped out Storybrooke. Implied Rumbelle.


The ceremony is a small one.

Rumplestiltskin's grave is but a stone placed carefully into the side of a grassy hill outside the boundaries of the woods. Clouds only just thick enough to block out the sun's light hang low in the sky, entrapping the inhabitants of the forest and its many surrounding fields. Belle has picked a spot for him. The shade of an old, gnarled tree keeps him in the shade until just before sunset, when it's as golden as the thread that so often ran through his fingers. It is nothing like the cobblestone streets of his childhood, or the red-tainted skies of the village that housed him and little Baelfire, or the grandiose lavishness of the estate he had favoured in the days he had first known her. It is nothing like those things, but all the same, she hopes he would have liked it.

In a way, she is glad it is nothing like those things. Those things only represented what he loathed about himself, and the remorse he held towards himself and others – the abandonment, the cowardice, the unruly struggle for power. Here, he can be in peace, no longer the subject of ridicule or bringer of fear, but peaceful. A monument is made from cold stone or metal, and often those they portray are just the same. But here, life will grow, flourishing and withering with the seasons. An ongoing cycle, a forever, to complement the end of a life.

Belle touches the headstone, a modest one, and sighs. Perhaps it is a good thing that his body is not here, waiting to be buried. She cannot be sure she would not try True Love's Kiss until her lips were bloody and bruised, knowing all too well what would come of it.

She gingerly places a single rose beside the headstone, which reads: _'Rumplestiltskin. Caring father, maker of deals. _She had made no place for herself on the inscription. She hadn't needed to; it's enough that he knew, and it's all that matters.

It's silent enough that all she hears is the brushing of the long grass blades as the wind whips through them. Suddenly, she feels compelled to speak. Not for the lack of attendance, but for him. Just for him. She takes out a crumpled piece of paper and squints at the calligraphic handwriting. The ink has bled in some places, the most heartfelt places. She gets to her knees, not caring if the dirt stains her dress. She clears her throat, feeling, in that moment, smaller than she ever had.

"It's a nice spot you picked out," a voice behind her says, and she gasps, getting to her feet. A small crowd has assembled at the foot of the hill: Charming, Snow White, Archie, the Blue Fairy, Grumpy and few of the other dwarves. A humble gathering, but a gathering nonetheless. Still, she cannot help but wonder just what they are trying to achieve.

"What do you want?" she asks, with as little hostility as she can manage. Though this 'grave' isn't even really a grave, she cannot suppress her protectiveness over it.

"We came to pay our respects," Charming replies, gesturing to indicate that it's on behalf of the group. They all nod. "We thought it would be the right thing to do."

Belle takes a deep breath, inspecting the sincerity of each and every face. After a moment's pause, she stands and takes a step away.

Together, they stand at the foot of the 'grave', where his feet might be if he were buried there. Then, they all look at each other, as if waiting for who might dare to step up, as if they're afraid a phantom hand might snake up from underneath the grass and pull them into the world of the dead. But no such hand surfaces, and eventually, Snow White is the first to speak.

"Mr Gold …" she stammers, clearing her throat several times in the spaces between her words. "Mr Gold was … an … _interesting _man, who showed great … uh, dedication in – "

"Stop. Just stop it," Belle snaps, her eyes dark all of a sudden. "You feared him, and none of you even _knew _him. And it was people like you who let him believe that he was monster all those years." The accusation in her voice is unmistakable, and she looks wistfully at the headstone before turning back to the crowd. "You should be ashamed. You claim to want to do 'the right thing' and yet you can't think of something real to say."

They all look crestfallen, and then Grumpy takes a step forward. Belle swallows hard, remembering the dream she once had wherein Grumpy and Rumple got into a rather nasty disagreement.

"Belle, look," he starts, roughly. "We all know ya loved him, but you gotta admit, the guy was a _tyrant_. He was relentless!"

She's fuming, but tries to stay silent in case there's more. And there is.

"He took lives, Belle," Charming adds, with an innocent expression.

At this point, Archie pushes through the crowd and walks closer to Belle than anyone else has dared to so far. "We understand that you're in mourning," he explains in his ever-gentle way. "And we respect that. But you should know that, for many, many years, Rumplestiltskin was just the stuff of legend. Moreover, he was the story told to village children at night to keep them from straying from their beds. He was the object of fear for many people. Perception is a very powerful thing, Belle." He touches her shoulder and she shakes him off. He pulls away, startled at the strong reaction from the normally very sweet and bubbly girl.

"He was _changing!" _she screams at them, letting tears finally flow freely. "He may have done some bad things in his life but he was changing. And he was changing for _me, _and for the son he wanted so desperately to reconcile with! The son who told he "just couldn't" be here to mourn the passing of his own father. Rumple was sweet to me, he was loving. It wasn't just love; it was _True Love. _Those of you who are lucky enough to have known it would understand how strong that is.  
>I am not blind. I know that he was sometimes scary and dangerous and <em>mad <em>with power – even I was scared of him when we first met – but just _think, just look, _and you will see that is not all there is to him. You call him a tyrant, but if not for him, you would all be serving at the hand of Peter Pan this very minute. I am not blind. But you are. And if you could have _stopped_ being blind for long enough to see the pure goodness in his heart, then perhaps I wouldn't be the only one with tears in my eyes today."

A long silence follows, and Snow wipes a tear from her eye and finds Charming's hand, squeezing tight. He turns and kisses her on the temple. The dwarves wrap their arms around each other.

"We are sorry, Belle," Charming says after forever, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Maybe … maybe you should speak for Rumplestiltskin."

Belle looks down at the now _very _crumpled piece of paper, which she had squeezed tightly in her anger. And she slowly nods.

"I can count on my fingers," she begins, "the number of days ago that you told me you wanted to be with me forever. That "us" was the path you wanted to take. And I can't put into words how happy I was to hear that. I want nothing more than for you to be remembered for the good qualities that you possessed, and for those who mourn you," she looks at the others, "to remember that beauty is only skin deep.

"Once, a long time ago, you asked me why I chose to be your caretaker in exchange for the safety of my village. And I told you I always wanted to explore the world, to be like the people in my books. I wanted to have adventures, to brave great dangers and be a hero. Rumple, we may have spent our years together bound by deals or curses, by amnesia or alter-egos, by prisons and deception, but you … you were the best adventure I ever had." She pauses, fighting an onslaught of tears. "You are gone. And while I am used to missing you, it may take me a little while to be used to not waiting for you to come back."

The last word barely escapes her lips before she finally breaks down, tears pouring down her cheeks and creating tiny rivers of ink on the paper in her hands. It takes only a moment before Grumpy runs to her and embraces her. The others are not far behind.

"He loved you _so _much, Belle," Snow whispers into her hair.

She wants to say that she knows, but in the end the words fail to form, and she just holds on tighter.


End file.
